


Descending Night

by TheThirdOmen



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29362284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdOmen/pseuds/TheThirdOmen
Summary: This short takes place at the end of Bloodborne, so big spoiler warning! The Hunter confronts Gehrman as the night begins to end and a clash of wills ensue. A huge thanks to my friend Neonster for helping me edit and beta this short work!
Kudos: 4





	Descending Night

# Descending Night

“Dear oh dear, what was it? The hunt, the blood, or the horrible dream. Oh, it doesn’t matter. It always comes down to the hunter’s helper to clean up after these sorts of messes.” 

The hunter watched as Gehrman did what he had thought was impossible. He stood from his wheelchair while grasping the handle of a weapon that had been hidden on his back. The glint of a curved blade caught his eye as his mentor brought his burial scythe into full view.  
The hunter had refused his offer. An act that he believed could only be driven by madness, a blood-drunk hunter that thirsted for the thrill of the hunt. Sustained by the dream, the hunter would be a ruthless force, one that would end the lives of many beasts and humans alike. But he wasn’t insane, or so he thought. He hadn’t felt the insatiable need to cleave the beasts in two, nor did he want to tear apart any of the townspeople. His days of fighting were coming to an end; all he wanted was to end the dream for good.  
So it came as a surprise when Gehrman stood to remove him from the dream. A man who had faked the injury that had supposedly put him in the wheelchair. A deceit that proved him to be the quiet protector of this realm. Which meant he would have to defeat him.

“Tonight the dream ends.”

With that Gehrman dashed at the hunter. His scythe whistled through the air, clashing with the edge of the hunter’s sword within the short moment he could raise it to defend himself. The impact sent a ripple of strain through the hunter’s arms. The First Hunter clearly hadn’t lost his touch. However, the first strike was merely a test, one that confirmed the hunter’s intentions. For a moment there was hesitation in the old man and he saw it. The realization of his student turning against the one who had helped him throughout his journey in Yharnam, Cainhurst and all crevices where the beasts lurked. He had sent him on a mission to kill a true Great One like many other hunters before him but he had been the only one who had succeeded.  
The brief pause ended, and his strike was followed by more cleaving attacks. The hunter moved defensively, deflecting each attack the way he had been taught. If they hadn’t been fighting to the death Gehrman would’ve been impressed with his movements, but he didn’t take the time to admire the fruits of his teachings. 

In the flurry of attacks, the scythe snuck its way past the hunter’s guard; hooking and pulling him using the curved end of his blade. He was brought within inches of the barrel of the buckshot gun Gehrman had taken off his back. The hunter kicked the gun away at the last second, causing the shot to fire into the dirt and flowers that surrounded them. The petals of which came cascading down around them in a small shower but not before the disturbed ground came falling, dirtying their clothes.  
It reminded him of the days he had spent planting with the doll. It had been after he had opened the Astral Clocktower to the fishing hamlet. Lady Maria had stood guard of it, disgusted with the blood and what the hunters had done to the people there. She had been a hunter herself and a good friend to Gehrman. The hunter’s dream had graves of all the hunters that had awoken from the dream. He had gone to her grave and planted daisies thereafter he had killed her. It was the only time he had seen Gehrman relieved, finally happy that his old friend’s suffering could end. 

“You are drunk, good hunter… and if not that then you are mad,” Gehrman said in between his attacks, “the moon will consume you, the night will never end.” 

The words shocked the hunter for a moment and at the earliest opportunity he broke away from the fight. He could barely understand what he was talking about.  
Gehrman would often reference the moon in his ramblings but he never knew why.  
There had been a time where the hunter had found him asleep in his chair behind the hunter’s workshop. He would frequently talk in his sleep but this time had been different. His whole person was shivering, almost convulsing at whatever nightmare he was trapped in. He would call out quietly in a desperate plea for someone to end his imprisonment.  
He was a prisoner, that much was clear, a slave to something greater. In a way, they were both fighting to free one from pain. Gehrman saw no end to the cycle of hunters. Even if he were to be freed another would take his place in due time. 

“Only a madman wouldn’t leave this dream! This is for your own good.”

Gehrman yelled at the hunter in anger but it fell on deaf ears. The hunter knew that Gehrman had taken on this burden to protect everyone who passed into this dream. He would be the keeper so that no one else would slave themselves in a false realm. His will was no longer his own, this slavery brought him to be nothing but a puppet before the being controlling this reality.  
The hunter was bent on change. He had to end the dream and to do it he would have to outlast Gehrman.

This conviction empowered the hunter, giving him the confidence to take control of the fight. He watched Gehrman hold his scythe behind his back. In a sudden motion, his mentor spun in a pirouette, his blade cutting through the air in a circle around him.  
The hunter had seen this move before in the clock tower where he was brought to death many times, but not anymore.  
The glinting sharpness passed over his head as he dropped to the ground. With one hand anchored beneath the flowers, he took off the solid block he had on his back and swung it toward Gehrman, taking an overhead angle. The movement pushed the limits of his muscles and he could feel them screaming in pain as he smashed the block in front of him. But his mentor was too nimble, even in his old age he was able to recover from his attack and dodge away.  
The hunter wasn’t finished though. He brought his sword forward and thrust into the block. It slotted itself comfortably in and when he heard the satisfying clicking noise that denoted the connection of the two pieces he swung it again. Like a battering ram, he drove the blunt head into the chest of Gehrman sending him off his feet and sliding across the dirt.  
The clicking of the sword and block connecting wasn’t the only sound he heard during the attack. The crack of bones on the impact nearly shocked him from the adrenaline of the fight. The hunter was suddenly hyper-aware of every sense he held access to.  
The smell of the burning workshop melding with the flower field before him. The weight of his sword as he felt the cinder block slide out from its mechanism. The sight of his oldest ally now laying in a bloody mess. He couldn’t help but notice the flowers underneath Gehrman wondering if they had always been roses or simply painted to look the type in recent moments.

“Why can’t you understand…” Gehrman spat blood to the ground as he brought himself to a hunched position. He wasn’t sure if the Scythe would hold his weight for a long time but his options were weighing thin.  
His apprentice watched him with steady eyes, ones that betrayed the pain they harboured. Pain for a stubborn old man unwilling to even attempt to find hope in his world, unable to put faith in the very person he had trusted and taught. 

“There is nothing left for you here… nothing but a horrible dream you must wake up from.” 

The first hunter made one final attempt, a desperate attack to show his apprentice his resolve but his momentum was halted before he could make his attack. The hunter held Gehrman upright, his blade sank deep into his chest. The quiet groans that Gehrman gave off in his last moments were the only thing the hunter could hear. Despite the roaring flames engulfing the workshop, the hunter was caught in a moment that he feared would end. He never thought his years of fighting would end like this. With his mentor dying on the edge of his sword.  
Gherman’s eyes bore into his soul, a stare that still challenged his belief even in the face of death. But the moment did end. His mentor died on his blade, falling limp and sliding off the steel and onto the flowerbed underfoot. Without the weight he had briefly held or the constant exertion of energy in battle, the world came rushing back to the hunter. It was too much for him. Overcome with emotion the hunter fell to the ground. His hands dug into the dirt beneath him as he held his head over Gehrman and although the battle was over he continued to fight. He fought the tears stinging at his eyes, threatening to break free like a river breaking a dam. He fought down the guilt of betraying his oldest mentor. He fought the sentiment that Gehrman had been right all along. He couldn’t believe that his protector had gone mad in isolation, that he had lost hope in every hunter he had trained.  
He fought it all, every negative feeling, every emotion. If Gehrman could endure this for decades then surely he could. He had slain a great one, a feat no other hunter could attest to but he was powerless before his own emotions. 

It was futile. He felt himself falling deeper into his own mind where his darkest thoughts resided. Only moments had it been since he had taken on his mentor’s will and it was already too much for him.  
His blood-soaked hands searched the ground for his weapon. Flowers and blades of grass rolled over his fingers before he felt the handle of his sword. With one of his calloused, bruised, and bloody hands he pointed his blade toward his stomach. In his other, he unearthed a fistful of flowers, grass and dirt. He brought the greenery to his face and inhaled deeply. The earthen aroma filled his senses and it brought him a sense of comfort. When he would awake he hoped he would remember this smell. A last memory of a long dream that had empowered him to defeat the beasts in the waking world.  
Then he held his blade with two hands but he couldn’t find the strength to release himself from this reality. His mind slipped for a moment as he came to a realization. He had killed beasts and abominations to be able to get here. Other hunters had stood in his way, old friends who had lost themselves in the thrill of the hunt, ones who saw beasts as people to be protected. He had killed them all the same, so he couldn’t understand his change in perspective. It was then he realized, these weren’t his own hands holding the sword. There was another presence, one cloaked in the shadow of the moon. Though it was his hands, it was the presence that held the blade to his abdomen. A threat to sever his only link to immortality, his only hope at ending the dream for good.  
He now understood all that Gehrman felt.

Captivated by the great being; the hunter got up from the ground.  
Without giving Gehrman’s body a second glance he ascended the hill of flowers toward the wheelchair under the tree. He walked stubbornly as if his own body was trying to stop himself from moving.  
The hunt, the nightmare, the slaying of other celestial beings was all orchestrated by this malicious being. He knew it now but it was too late. It was almost as if he was watching himself from the outside. Now he understood all that Gehrman feared.  
There was nothing he could do but take his seat in the chair. There would be more use of him yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, Omens here!
> 
> This is my first time posting here so if you liked don't hesitate to let me know! I'm just an amateur writer so constructive criticism is highly appreciated and any other advice you feel like giving. If you guys like it let me know if you want to see a series with longer chapters, I'd be happy to oblige.


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